


Teenage angst has paid off well

by skuxie



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuxie/pseuds/skuxie
Summary: Memories. Bits and pieces of Kian Witika's life.Everyone point and laugh.TW: Misgendering. Graphic violence.
Kudos: 6





	Teenage angst has paid off well

It was so easy to take youth for granted; to take the sprawling, grassy yard for granted. To take the feeling of rain on your skin for granted. To take the feeling of not needing to know yourself for granted. 

Fall City, Washington was only about a half hour drive from the hustle and bustle of Seattle, but it felt like a world of its own. A set of identical, dark-haired twins spent the first twelve years of their life in the quaint little town. Worry-free. 

Sunday school. Regular school. Church youth group activities. Ballet classes for the younger twin. Rinse. Repeat. It was a set schedule, and it was comforting for them both.

Their parents had guidelines that they both obeyed without question. They were raised with the constant feeling of structure and order. They didn’t have to think for themselves. That was a task for their parents. They were happy. 

Their parents told them they were happy. And they believed it.

* * *

A job offer. Moving away from the comfortable, secluded town they called home. The short-haired twin was furious; getting into an argument with the father. The other twin knew better than to push against her parents’ decisions. She sits and watches the fight with sad eyes, flinching as the shouting gets louder and uglier. 

“I hate you! You’re ruining our lives!” 

“Why don’t you leave! We provide everything for you, you don’t contribute anything to this household, you just take, and take, and take! Your sister is the only daughter we need, she’s the only one who helps around here! Grow up!”

“Maybe I will leave, since I’m not good enough to compare to her! I don’t fucking care!”

The curse word is awarded with a furious expression, and a blow to the ear. The shouting stops after that. Messy bangs cover wet eyes, but they can’t hide the tears rolling down reddened cheeks. The fighter gives a remorseful glance to the spectator before storming off to another room.

Separated from father and sister, the youngest child angrily rifles through a drawer packed tight with underwear. Somewhere parents wouldn’t dare look. A place to keep secrets and small rebellions. From the bottom of the drawer, a CD is retrieved. Its cover is a pale yellow with the image of a skinless angel. A gift from a non-member friend. The music is aggressive, and loud, and everything the kid’s parents were against. The thought of owning this piece of contraband was terrifying... but exciting all the same. 

The CD was placed in a stereo that had been turned down low. Breaking the rules was exciting, but an ear burning with pain was enough of a reminder to not tempt fate. 

_‘As my bones grew, they did hurt_

_They hurt really bad_

_I tried hard to have a father_

_But instead, I had a dad_

_I just want you to know that I_

_Don't hate you anymore_

_There is nothing I could say_

_That I haven't thought before’_

Despite the volume being near inaudible, the lyrics still spoke to the listener. There was solace to be found in the angst and turmoil. 

Screaming matches. Physical punishment. The youngest twin storming off and slamming the door to listen to the well-worn CD. A love and near-obsession for the comfort of a grunge band and its lead singer. All new additions to the weekly schedule.

The twins were uprooted at twelve years old. They said their goodbyes to their friends; people who they would miss, but ultimately forget. When the going got tough, those people were just empty faces who visited for short moments. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Age 18 brought in a change in the form of a haircut. A pixie cut. Dark curls framing the face that smiled softly in the mirror. 

“I told you it would make you look like a boy. I like your old style better, it was cute.”

The face in the mirror frowned. “I know, mom.”

“It makes your face look extra round.”

“I know, mom.”

“I think you should grow your hair out. Nice and long like your sister’s.”

The person in the mirror rolled their eyes and flipped the bird at the woman. Quickly, and only when she wasn’t looking. The action shot a feeling of panic through the perpetrator, and the gesture was immediately hidden away. The older woman made eye contact through the mirror, but hadn’t seen the crude gesture. Or maybe she was waiting until they were in private to respond. Guilt and fear ate away at the 18 year old’s mind for the rest of the day. The only ease of mind coming with running one’s fingers through newly cropped hair. A new look. Something that felt more comfortable. 

_Something for him._

* * *

A girl with blonde hair in a messy bob and a bright smile that lit up her green eyes sat across the table, laughing as she tried to tie a cherry stem with her tongue.

“Oh my gosh, you’re going to get us in trouble! Stop being weird!” Despite worrying about getting yelled at, Kian couldn’t help but laugh along with her; her cheer was infectious.

Charlotte shrugged with a grin, “If the leaders didn’t want me practicing my smoooochin’ skills they shouldn’t have included cherries in the refreshments. I’m not letting these perfectly good stems go to waste!” 

“Oh, shut up! You’re ridiculous, why am I friends with you?”

“I dunno… because I’m really cool and funny and you’re absolutely helpless without me?” She winked.

Kian returned the wink with an eye roll, but he had a wide smile on his face. “Riiight… That’s it.”

“You know you love me!”

The twins had been living away from their birth state for six years, and the new place pretending to be their home didn’t feel like it. Charlotte was a kind face in a friendless place. Kian gave a gentle chuckle and spoke softly, “I DO love you.”

There was a moment of silence between the two friends. An exchange of knowing and caring looks. But, the tender moment was gone when Charlotte burst into laughter and pointed an accusing finger at her friend. “Ew! I’m gonna tell Ramona!”

Kian flushed, throwing a discarded cherry across the table and beaning the girl on the cheek. “N-Not like that! Geez! I changed my mind, I hate you!” The pair laughed and tossed cherries at one another, eventually gaining disapproving looks from the adult leaders, but it only made them laugh harder.

* * *

The first time Kian’s powers manifested, it was nothing special. Just like him. The old thermometers in the church building went haywire. The old light bulbs flickered out and pooled with a shiny liquid. The old grandfather clock’s pendulum deteriorated. The church was never one to spend money on shiny, new things, which allowed for a shocking amount of mercury to be laying around; just itching to be freed from their appliance prisons.

He was in a youth group meeting. It was a small group that night, with only three witnesses. The leader had stepped out of the room to make a phone call. His anger got the best of him. It always did. Jackson Springer was running his mouth off. Again. About what? Kian couldn’t remember. It wasn’t important. All he remembered was everything falling apart, and suddenly he had twitching droplets of mercury dancing around his fingers. Three pairs of fearful eyes bore down on him.

“☐☐☐☐☐☐ is a Bioterrorist!” A frightened hiss accused.

Kian backed away from the others, his whole body trembling. “I’m not! I’m not! I-I’m...I’m not a Bioterrorist! P-Please…” 

“Don’t get near her!”

“Call Sister Brown!” 

“No! Call the DUP!”

Hot tears fell down Kian’s face. His chest felt like it might collapse in on itself. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please! D-Don’t call anyone! I can get rid of it, I c-can cure it!” He fell to his knees, bowing his head to the others in submission. The floating mercury fell to the floor around his hands. “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.” The words got progressively more incoherent as Kian succumbed to the sobs racking his body.

There was a long moment where no one moved; the sound of the mercury conduit crying was the only noise that filled the room. Jackson stepped forward, leering down at the defeated form. “I thought Bioterrorists were supposed to be scary. I guess that’s what happens when you give powers to someone whos all bark and no bite.”

“It was an accident… I’m s-sorry. I could never hurt anyone… Please… Don’t t-tell anyone.”

The others murmured in agreement to keep the dangerous secret to themselves, but they knew they had a Bioterrorist in their midst, and they would keep their distance.

* * *

The promise not to tell a soul didn’t last long-- maybe only a week-- and whispers of a Bioterrorist in the community spread quickly. Kian had confided in Ramona about what had happened in private, and she had taken the news fairly well. The pair stuck closely together as they walked through a hallway filled with people who avoided Kian’s gaze. He lowered his head in defeat. It wasn’t like he had friends before, but he DEFINITELY didn’t have friends now.

Ramona hooked her arm around his. “Hey… It’s okay. We’ll be okay. They’re just scared idiots. You still have me. You’ll always have me, okay?” Kian didn’t respond. Ramona nudged him lightly, and spoke more forcefully. “Okay?”

Kian nodded. It felt awful to be isolated from the people he cared about. A ward provided a built in community with built in friends. Structure. But everyone knew he was a Bioterrorist. It hurt. He had never felt so alone before, but Ramona had a point. He had her. They had each other. He was glad that she wasn’t a Bioterrorist too. She didn’t deserve to feel what he was feeling. Ever. 

The twins rounded the corner and came face to face with their bishop. He was a wide man with wide set eyes that made him look like a bug. “☐☐☐☐☐☐! I’ve been looking for you. Can we have a talk in my office?” He looked at Ramona. “Alone.”

Ramona’s grip on Kian’s arm tightened defensively. Kian shook his head. “It’s okay, Ramona.” He spoke soft enough that only she could hear, and after a second of reluctance, she released his arm.

“I’ll be waiting outside.”

The bishop nodded. “We shouldn’t be more than a second.”

Kian’s hands felt clammy, and his throat felt dry. Fear. Uncertainty. Nonetheless, he followed the bishop into the unknown of his office. The bishop sat in the chair behind his desk, and commanded Kian to take a seat in the chair across from him. Kian obeyed. He wondered if someone’s heart could beat out of their chest. His nails dug into his sweaty palms.

“☐☐☐☐☐☐, I wanted to talk to you about the rumors that are going around about you being a… Bioterrorist.” The bishop’s words felt like an accusation; the word ‘Bioterrorist’ feeling like a scarlet letter pinned to Kian’s aching chest. “After what happened in Empire City and New Marais, I think we all know how dangerous this sort of thing is…” He paused as if allowing Kian to speak up. He didn’t. The bishop continued. “I don’t want you to get wrapped up in this, alright? It’s not safe. Not safe for your parents, not safe for anyone else in our ward, not safe for your sister, and especially not safe for yourself.”

Kian’s brows furrowed. The way the bishop was talking about being a Bioterrorist made it sound like he thought it was a choice. The whole situation was beyond Kian’s control! Just some fucked up genetics and some shit luck! Kian wanted to let the bishop know what was on his mind, but he had long since learned to hold his tongue around those above him. The bishop had still been speaking while Kian’s mind was racing, and Kian forced himself to focus back up. “I’m going to ask everyone to pray to take his affliction from you. I suggest you do the same. Morning, and night. Okay?”

No. “Yes.”

The bishop smiled, and stood from his chair. “Good.” He reached across the table to shake Kian’s hand. Kian’s heart jumped at the gesture. He quickly shook the bishop’s hand, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the clamminess or the budding droplets of liquid his nails had cut into his palms. The contact was brief, but it left Kian feeling strangely lighter, like a piece of him had left. The bishop crossed the room and opened the door, revealing Ramona. She looked relieved to see Kian hadn’t been carted away by the DUP. Kian got up and joined his sister, unease and confusion filling his mind. “Remember, morning and night!” The bishop said with a chuckle.

Kian blinked, and murmured in response, “Of course, bishop.” A lie.

* * *

Ramona’s powers manifested in private. It was just the two of them. 

_Light._

Kian had made a joke that made her laugh her hearty, beautiful laugh, and the light danced around her face as it happened. It was something amazing. Something radiant. Something wonderful. Just like Ramona herself.

Kian may have beaten her to the punch when it came to discovering their powers, but Kian couldn’t even call it a victory. A large part of Kian now worried about Ramona being in danger, but a small part of him felt...resentment. They always played this game; always danced this dance. Ramona was the shining beacon of positivity against Kian’s stormy, violent sea. Kian loved his sister more than anything else in the world, but he was tired of playing second fiddle. 

But it was something he would have to get used to.

* * *

Another church session. It started normal. Just another monotonous day, going through the motions. But the bishop was missing from the pulpit. He was sick, according to his first counselor. The first hour meeting disbanded early, and the twins were whisked away by their parents to a separate room at the back of the meeting house. The door closed behind the four of them with a harsh finality. Aside from the twins and their parents, three other men and one more woman stood around the room, their faces a mixture of unease and anger.

“Mom… Dad… What’s going on?” Ramona asked, looking nervously around the dark room. Her eyes fell on Kian, who shook his head wordlessly.

“Girls, we’re sorry for this,” Their father started, making Kian grimace. “There was an announcement from the head of the church. Bioterrorists are a danger to us all. Your powers… They aren’t natural, and we can’t risk keeping you around. Satan is testing us. He’s trying to trick you into thinking that it’s okay to rival the power of our Heavenly Father.”

Kian watched as his sister’s face twisted into a look of horror. The lights sputtered frantically. The younger twin’s face remained expressionless. He spoke, voice low and angry, but wavering, “But Ramona _isn’t_ a Bioterrorist, it’s just me.” A lie. Kian had taken the fall for her many times before, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Not when it really mattered. 

This time, their mother spoke, “You’re identical twins. We can’t risk it.” Kian’s heart skipped a beat. Ramona choked back a sob. 

“So...what? You’re going to turn us in? Lock us up in Curdun Cay?” An angry buzz started in Kian’s mind, filling his thoughts with a rapidly building rage. He was trying his best to act tough-- it was clear Ramona wasn’t going to be much help-- but his body was shaking. In fear? In anger? He couldn’t tell.

“The DUP are already on their way.”

“You can tell them it was a false alarm. Call them off. Ramona ISN’T a Bioterrorist. An--And I don’t have to use my powers. I’ll get rid of them somehow. I’m not… I’m not dangerous.” The words were difficult to get out; slow and clumsy. Ramona was crying openly, and had attached herself to Kian.

“Do you know why the bishop was gone today? Why he’s sick? Huh?!” An angry voice shouted. One of the men. “Weak muscles? Vomiting? Difficulty breathing?” 

“So?!” Kian spat back.

“So?? You did this, Bioterrorist! It’s mercury poisoning!”

The buzz in Kian’s mind was reaching a fever pitch. He couldn’t think. “Ramona. Get. Down.”

“K-Kian?” Ramona whimpered.

“NOW!” Kian shouted, pushing her to the ground. A white hot rage took over the younger twin’s mind and each of the flickering light bulbs shattered instantly. Tiny collections of mercury that laid dormant in the various antiques freed themselves, forming into thin, pulsing needles. The screams didn’t last long; swiftly replaced with gasping, dying gurgles as the quicksilver shredded open throats and tore up skin. 

Former family friends.

Parents.

Kian had trusted them. Trusted their guidance and the structure they provided for so long. But they were so willing to turn the two of them in. It churned Kian’s stomach. He didn’t want to look at them anymore. The mercury whizzed around like shimmering piranha, and the familiar faces were replaced with bloody, pulpy, meaningless messes. They didn’t matter anymore. Kian blinked. He hadn’t noticed he was crying. Wiping away the tears, he looked down at Ramona, who had curled into a ball. “Ramona. Go home. Start packing our stuff. The DUP can’t be far, we have to hurry.” His voice was cold and emotionless. Ramona obeyed. She got to her feet shakily and stumbled out of the room, keeping herself from looking at the mangled bodies around her.

Alone in the room with what used to be his parents, Kian stared at the scene he had caused. The deafening noise consumed all his thoughts, and he tripped over himself making his way to his father. Hurt. Hurt. He hurt you. He hurt Ramona. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Kian’s breathing was panicked and shallow, as he raised his fists, pounding them into the slippery, bloody flesh, time, and time, and time again. “Fuck you. Fuck you! I fucking hate you! I HATE YOU!” Blood splattered; covering his fists, forearms, and the nice, white skirt he was wearing. He didn’t care. The mercury danced around him, sharpening angrily with each juicy blow. The worry of the DUP’s arrival slipped away, along with the rest of the world. The rhythm of each strike, and the feeling of blood between his fingers was all he had now. All that mattered. Justice. Revenge. For all the years of choking back words. All the years of stamping down who he was. All the years of never being good enough. All the years of flinching in fear of punishment. Now it was his turn to deal the punishment. His turn to deal the blows.

Justice. 

Revenge. 

The door slammed open. Someone started to shout Kian’s name, but stopped to scream at the gory mess before them. The mercury conduit’s muscles tensed instinctively at the sound and he spun around, his face contorted into an angry glare. The tiny mercury daggers whistled through the air, puncturing holes in the intruder.

Charlotte stood in the doorway, eyes full of shock and fear. Silver tears and silver blood poured from the holes in her face. The frenzied buzzing in Kian’s mind cut off suddenly; replaced with a silence that only made the sickening thud of Charlotte’s body feel ear-splitting. Kian scrambled over to the collapsed form of his best friend, shaking and wheezing. “Ch-Charlotte? Oh god… Oh fucking GOD… Charlotte, g-get up. GET UP!” He shook her, the blood on his hands painting crimson all over her skin and clothes. “Charlotte, please. PLEASE! Oh god oh god oh god…” Kian’s wailing and desperate pleas were drowned out by the sound of sirens in the distance. The DUP. Shaky hands flipped the girl over, and emptied her pockets of her possessions. Repeated whispers of ‘I’m sorry…’ fell from Kian’s lips as he procured the girl’s wallet, phone, and an envelope with the letter ‘K’ scrawled on it. Kian swallowed hard. Shock and guilt filled his mind. He didn’t want to leave Charlotte’s side, but if he waited a moment longer the DUP were sure to find him. 

Strict parents raise sneaky children, and by the time the DUP discovered the murder scene, the mercury Bioterrorist was long gone.

The Sugarhouse Church Massacre; the first in a long line of mistakes.

* * *

A frantic pair, tearing apart their parents’ home. Grabbing anything of value; both monetary and sentimental, as well as all the important supplies they could find. Lucky for them, their parents owned what their non-member friends liked to call a ‘polygamist van’, and it made running away with as much as they could grab easy.

All of the food in their pantry and fridge. (Luckily their parents were one step away from doomsday preppers.) Their father’s instruments. (Maybe they could sell them.) Ramona grabbed clothes from her and her mom’s closets, then moved on to Kian’s closet. He insisted on leaving his clothes behind, wanting to take the clothes from his father’s closet (which would be baggy on him, but he preferred it that way), and Ramona understood, but she convinced him that they could sell his clothes if they needed. Mother’s jewelry. Her fancy camera and all of her supplies. All the cash their parents had hidden away in stashes around the house (which still didn’t amount to much, but it was better than nothing). The van was a packed mess, but they didn’t have the luxury of time to make things look nice. They sat in silence, without the distraction of looting their parents’ home, the full weight of what had just occurred fell on their shoulders. 

“Where… Where do we go?” Ramona asked. Her voice was wavering. The car felt abnormally dark, despite the sun shining through the windows.

Kian scratched at the drying blood on his hands and arms. He had quickly changed out of the skirt and into some pants that felt much more comfortable, but he didn’t have the time to scrub the violence from his hands. He looked up into her eyes. They were full of anxious uncertainty. It was clear that this time around, she was in no shape to take the lead. “We go home.”

Ramona offered a weak smile and started up the car. 

They headed northwest.

* * *

The smell of chemical dye and Ramona’s perfume. It’s his first time. The bleach burns his scalp and turns his naturally black hair an ugly bronze-orange color. Ramona warned him, but he didn’t listen. Partly due to the paranoia and desperation for a disguise--a drastic change in appearance-- and partly due to The Outsiders making it seem so easy. He hates it.

Orange hair. Piercings. Shaved slits in his brows. He doesn’t recognize the man in the mirror. He hates it. It makes him cry. The only comfort he has is being able to wear the clothes he feels comfortable in, outside of his parents’ influence. It’s a small comfort, but it’s a comfort nonetheless.

Age 20 welcomes other first times. First cigarette. First taste of alcohol. First times that would become far-from-last-times. 

* * *

Kian sat cross-legged in the grass, watching a man-- his first boyfriend-- and his dog playing in the field in front of him. It was a sunny day. Dex always preferred the sun; always complained about the rain. But Kian loved the grey skies that Seattle always seemed to offer. He ripped up clumps of grass, putting it into a pile in front of himself. Barks and hearty laughter echoed in the open air. Kian ran his fingers through his platinum blonde hair. It was a comfortable color he had taken a liking to and worked hard to maintain. 

Kian’s wary eyes watched the pair jump and run. They were having fun. He told himself he was having fun. But it wasn’t true. There was something unsatisfying about spending time with Dex. It was like being in a relationship with a blank wall. Kian felt more lonely with the man than he ever did on his own.

Their relationship ended after six months. It ended in tears, and shouting, and a nasty fight. It ended in a dog getting too defensive of her master, and Kian getting bitten. It ended with Kian unsure over whether or not he was in the wrong, or if he was the bad guy in the situation. The only certainty was a newfound fear of dogs.

* * *

A night in the dumpy apartment. It was a truly shitty place, but they were barely scraping by and it was the best they could afford. Ultimately, the quality of their apartment didn’t matter. They had a place to call their own. They had each other. And they had the freedom to be themselves. They had taken that freedom and ran with it, replacing their black hair with platinum and bubblegum pink dye jobs. Kian looked over at his sister, who was too focused on the show they were watching to notice. She looked beautiful with her pink curls and bright makeup, and she looked much happier than she had ever been before. She had truly found herself, blossoming into a fun-loving, friendly, and bubbly party girl; miles away from the reserved, submissive and fearful girl she was under their parents’ roof. Kian smiled slightly. They were building a life together, and nothing could tear them apart. 

Part of him wished he could be happy like her, but another part of him knew that his actions didn’t deserve happiness. All he could do was ensure that his sister was happy. She deserved it more than he did, and he would do anything in his power to give her that happiness.

* * *

Making friends was difficult. At age 21, Kian could count on one finger how many friends he had. It didn’t help that his demeanor gave off an aura of unapproachability, and that he was constantly scowling.

At age 21, while taking out the trash, the friend count went up to two. A mangy, gray tabby with three legs waddled out from behind a dumpster. Its fur was matted and it was missing a chunk of its left ear, but gave a gentle meow that made the mercury conduit drop the trash bags and stoop down to say hello.

“Hey there, buddy… What are you doing out here all alone?”

Meow.

“Oh no! Your parents died too? That’s so crazy!”

The cat trotted up to Kian, rubbing its cheek against his legs. Kian smiled wide, his dimples showing for the first time in years. 

Meow.

“Me? Oh yeah, I have a sister. Her name is Ramona.”

Meow.

“No! She’s nice, I promise. She’ll like you.” Kian bent down, scooping the cat up into his arms as delicately as possible. The cat gave a chorus of meows, followed by soft purring that made the blonde chuckle. “I should give you a name, huh?” The cat looked up at him with big, curious eyes. “You’ve got pretty blue eyes! Just like someone else I know...” The cat meowed. “Yeah! Kurt Cobain! You’re a fan too? Fuck yeah, that’s awesome!” He scratched the cat’s cheek, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing his name with you, buddy.” The conduit was definitely talking to a cat who definitely wasn’t responding to or understanding anything he was saying, but he had a wide smile that lit up his eyes and a feeling of happiness in his heart and it was all that mattered at the moment. He had a new friend.

* * *

24 is too old to be running away from home.

It all felt too familiar. Kian had threatened to run away many times when he was younger, but back then it was always a fight spurred on by the controlling nature of two ignorant parents. This time was different. This time he had upset his sister.  
They were siblings--TWINS, for god sakes-- of course they fought. But those fights were always about trivial matters like Kian making a snide remark towards Ramona’s latest love interest, or the cat shitting on the carpet.

  
This time was different.

  
Kian had never seen Ramona so mad at him before. She had come home, stressed out about the latest update to the ever expanding DUP lock down, and Kian responded in his own special, idiotic way.

\-------------------------------------------

_“Do you even care about what the DUP are doing?! They’re hunting us like beasts, Kian!”_

_“What do you think? Of course I care, Rams.”_

_“Really? Because it seems like you’re pulling your ‘aw boo hoo, the world is so mean to me. I don’t care about anyone or anything.’ routine. I was stopped on the light rail by a DUP soldier. He demanded that I get off at the next station and go through a checkpoint. I--I didn’t know what to do, and I was so scared. I needed you to be there with me, but instead you’re just wallowing in your own self pity. We’re supposed to be taking care of each other!”_

_Silence._

_Tell her you’re sorry and that she’s right._

_Silence._

_Come on, you miserable piece of shit. SAY something._

_Silence._

_“Well I’m sorry that some of us can’t blend in as well as you, Miss Perfect. Hah! You don’t need my depressing ass dragging you down! You just keep me around to make you feel better about yourself!”_

_Silence._

_You fucking moron._

_Silence. Then a sniffle. Ramona turned on her heel and stomped away to her room. The click of heels followed by the sound of a slamming door felt deafening in the small apartment. But as quickly as as powerfully as they arrived, they were swallowed up by a more powerful force. Regret._

_Good job, genius._

_He had grabbed his bag, shoving a few essentials into it before climbing onto the first bus to who-knows-where._

\-------------------------------------------

Kian looked up, into the interior of the bus, and around at the few other odd figures occupying the dimly lit space. He blinked rapidly, hoping that none of them had noticed that he had started to tear up. The memory of the nasty words he and Ramona had thrown at one another had replayed themselves nonstop since the encounter, and likely would continue to do so for days, weeks, and months afterwards. Kian’s brain was constantly playing reruns of his many, many mistakes.

  
The buzz of the lights cut through Kian’s thoughts for a moment, drawing his attention to their sickly glow. Ramona would describe the bus as a “bad feeling” if she were there, almost as if the lights had a palpable feeling. Sometimes she described lights as “good” or “bad” tasting. It wasn’t something Kian could understand, but she was always so vocal about it that it made him smile every time. Too bad she wasn’t there. Too bad you fucked things up royally. Kian furrowed his brows, following the light down to the three other riders. The light cast ghastly shadows across their features, turning neutral expressions into accusing frowns.

  
They knew what he had done. They knew what he was. They knew. They knew. They knew. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to look away, but he could feel them poking around in his brain. Desperate for a distraction, he unzipped his bag, and dug past a bag of smashed chips and a half empty bottle of water to locate several small books. The books rarely ever left the bag, even when Kian wasn’t attempting to run away. They were an embarrassing secret. Not even Ramona knew about them. He placed them on his lap, and began thumbing through them.

  
The books were his photo albums; carefully compiled pictures he had taken of his friends. Photos of a girl with bright pink hair and an even brighter smile. Photos of a long-haired brunette committing increasingly ridiculous-- and possibly illegal-- acts. A few careful, candid photos of a man with chin-length, dark hair. Carefully taken to simultaneously enhance the man's looks while also ensuring he didn't notice his picture being taken.

  
They were meant to be gifts for each of them, tokens of Kian’s gratitude for their presence in his life. But gifts were meant to be given, and he wasn’t ready to admit that he cared about anyone other than his sister. So the albums remained at the bottom of his bag, instead reminders of the good things in his life. Friends. Despite these books full of blessings, a frown remained on Kian’s lips. He knew what was next. The final reminder.

  
The oldest of the albums was last. Its worn, brown cover was labeled with the name ‘Charlotte’. Kian’s frown deepened as he flipped through the book. Yellowed and crumpled photos decorated the pages. Photos of a girl with pale skin and short, golden hair. Photos of identical twins with dark hair embracing the girl with wide smiles on their faces. A photo of a large group of people, standing in neat lines and wearing formal clothes. This photo was torn, but being held together with tape. A sliver of the photo was missing completely. A sliver right next to the dark haired twins.

  
Kian continued flipping through the album until an envelope fell out. The paper was warped in spots, as if drops of water had fallen on it. He didn’t need to read what was inside, as its contents had been burned into his memory; but he removed the note anyway, breathlessly reading the words on the page;

_'Kian,_

_Wow. It feels good to say--or rather...write?-- your name without worrying about your parents or my parents overhearing… Speaking of, I’ve been hearing whispers across the ward that you’re a_ _~~Bioterrorist~~ _ _Conduit… And I wanted to tell you that I know you! And I know that you’d never hurt anyone! I trust you, and I think that we can get through this together. The gossip will keep circulating, but it will die down and things will be back to normal. You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I’ll do anything in my power to keep you safe. That’s why I’m writing this note. Hopefully I can get it to you before my parents find it. Mom, Dad, if you’re reading this… FUCK YOU!!! HAHA!! God, now I really hope they don’t find it because I’ll be grounded for life. Anyway… yeah! It’s you and me (and Ramona, I guess) against the world! Forever!_

 ~~_I love you. God, that’s so embarrassing. Maybe that’s a subject for a different letter another time._ ~~ _← IGNORE THIS!!_

_\- CHARLOTTE, THE COOLEST AND FUNNIEST <3 <3!!’ _

Kian held the letter in his hands. Tears fell onto the red-stained page, joining the dozens and dozens of ones before them. The ultimate reminder. A reminder of the greatest mistake. A reminder of the blood on his hands, and reminder that no matter how much people might say otherwise, he was a bad person and his mistakes could never be forgiven. He wouldn’t let them be forgiven.

* * *

Quiet nights. Nights filled with the sounds of cars and the downpour of rain. Cold nights. Warm nights. Somber nights with Ramona. Nights with Tia that were filled with both laughter and tears. Increasingly frequent nights with Wybie. Nights that blended together. No matter the forecast; no matter the companion, it was always on the rooftop, overlooking Seattle with a cigarette between his fingers. Kian wasn’t much for conversation, and those companions learned to be comfortable in silence with him. So many new faces had come into his life since he and Ramona had returned to Seattle. He told himself he couldn’t have friends; couldn’t LET himself have friends. But there they were; constantly coming through the apartment door, constantly inviting him out of the apartment, constantly smiling, constantly laughing. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he had found friends, and deep down it made him feel complete.

* * *

Dance was always a constant in Kian’s life. He was placed in ballet lessons at a young age. “You’ll be so graceful and pretty.” His mother always said. He hated the lessons. Hated the idea of performing because someone else wanted him to-- because his MOTHER wanted him to. Dance competitions came and went. He won awards; awards that would be proudly displayed in the family room by his mother to brag about to unsuspecting house guests. He hated winning awards.

Ballet lessons would change to Salsa lessons. Salsa lessons would change to Ballroom. He ESPECIALLY hated Ballroom; being forced to let some pasty-faced boy lead; being forced to let those boys put their hand on his waist. The Ballroom lessons turned back to Ballet lessons after too many feet were (intentionally) stepped on. Kian was much better at ballet anyways. 

Years went by, and the training only got more rigorous. Kian found himself practicing on his own time. Practicing without the gentle (yelling) of his mother. Dance was the one sense of structure his mother had given him that he appreciated. The one sense of structure that he was able to claim for himself. Free from his mother’s overbearing opinions and will, he picked up Hip Hop. Hip Hop quickly became a new favorite, but Ballet never left. Dance was a constant. A welcome constant. Instead of performing for the approval of others, it had become something just for himself. HIS art. 

_Something for him._

* * *

A misplaced bass note followed by a grunt of frustration. The music stopped. “Honest to God, Kian? That was _really_ good. Like… I really think you’re improving!” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Kian snapped back.

“No, I honestly think it’s sounding great! And by ‘great’, I mean really bad.” Tia continued, their black painted lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah, no I got that. I already know you’re a dick, you don’t have to explain it to me.” Kian retaliated, strategically focusing on pretending to tune his bass so he wouldn’t see their smug face.

“You two really fight like an old married couple.” The black haired guitarist commented, continuing to practice his chord progressions.

“ _Don’t_ _make me puke._ ” Kian and Tia responded simultaneously, making Wybie chuckle. 

Wybie shrugged, gaze still on the frets and strings of his guitar. “I dunno! I know yous like to go at each other’s throats but I think Witika’s been getting better! Good on ya, Witika!” 

Kian blinked, his cheeks felt warm as he looked up at Wybie. “Wait...Really?” A small, bashful smile crept onto his face at the compliment. Tia’s face scrunched up in a mixture of disgust and confusion.

The guitarist nodded, “I mean, when ya start at bloody awful, there’s nowhere else to go but up.” Wybie laughed at his own dig, followed by Tia, who let out an ugly snort that turned into snickering. Kian’s face went bright red and he hurled the nearest object he could find at Wybie, which happened to be a box half full of Ramona’s old clothes meant for Goodwill. The box beaned the man in the leg, and the colorful clothing scattered across the messy living room. The laughter continued, much to Kian’s disdain.

“Fuck you both! I’m breaking up this band.” Kian huffed.

Tia’s laughing cut off with a gasp. They pointed a finger at Kian, accusingly. “Whoa! What band? We’re a band now?” The bassist sputtered in protest, too flustered to respond to their teasing. “I mean I’m not complaining, but wow! This is all so sudden! At least take us to dinner first!”

Wybie looked up at Kian curiously. He smiled, dimples showing, and giving him an impish look. “We’re a band now? Gnarly.” Kian opened his mouth to speak, but a wink from the other man made him decide against it. “What’s our name?”

“Psychic Party!” Tia shouted, a bit too eagerly. Kian shushed them angrily.

Wybie raised a brow. “ _Psychic_ _Party_?”

“Don’t worry about merch. I think Kian has that under control, right Kian?”

“GOD…Do you ever know when to shut up?” Kian hissed, his face beet red.

“Nope! Never!” Tia chirped happily.

Wybie inhaled sharply, his curiosity and lack of patience with his friends’ ‘playful banter’ getting the best of him. “Can one of yous explain what the bloody hell is going on?”

There was a moment of silence, then Kian groaned. “Ugh, alright. This asshole is making fun of me because I made a fake band; Psychic Party. Band name, song titles, merch, everything. I never had enough people to make an actual band before, so I just did all the work without actually having the band part, I guess? It’s so fucking stupid, I know.”

“He never had enough people to make the band before because he just didn’t have enough friends before.” Tia teased, earning a dirty glare from the platinum blonde.

Wybie seemed to seriously consider Kian’s words for a second before nodding. “Psychic Party… I like it.”

“I don’t.” Tia’s naturally monotonous voice coming off more deadpan than normal before they quickly laughed it off and added, “Kidding. I think it rocks. I’ve always thought it was cool. Just not as cool as Zombee Mom, y’know?”

“You _would_ say that.” Kian said. “But thanks...I guess.” He looked at Wybie, bashfully awaiting his further thoughts.

Wybie smiled again, easing Kian’s nerves. “What do ya say, captain? Mind if we steal your brand?”

The sight of Wybie’s bright smile made Kian’s heart flutter. He gave a shy smile in response. “Not at all. ‘ _Psychic Party’_ it is.”

* * *

He’s back on the rooftop. Seattle at night. A friend at his side. Things are the same, yet completely different. There’s no cigarette. His hair is a curly mess. He’s smiling and chatting openly. 

Arguing and making up with Ramona. Teasing Wybie by shit talking the Wallabies. Late night jam sessions with Psychic Party. Long moments of silence and appreciating Tia’s company. He’s letting people in and being let in in return.

The people in his life were more than just that. They were friends— Or more than that, they were FAMILY. They were a ramshackle group of Bioterrorists, but they were the greatest family Kian could ask for. And he was happy.

  
  



End file.
